Fixing the Broken Pedestal
by livinglaughinglove
Summary: Sometimes help comes from the most unlikely of places, in the most unlikely circumstances. Set during the '47 seconds' story arc. Post 4x20, 'The Limey', and goes AU from there.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, in a fairly usual re-watch of the '47 seconds' story arc, something struck me. Most of** **the major cast have something to say about Castle's…less-than-savoury behaviour, be it to Beckett or to Castle or just to each other –** _ **except Gates**_ **. Why? Maybe she didn't really care at that point. Or maybe she didn't feel on friendly enough terms with the Gang to butt in. Who knows?**

 **Anyway, whilst I was supposed to be writing a 6000-word Creative Process Log for Wednesday – of which, I've only got about 500 words…gulp – my brain, in its usual zany fashion, started providing distractions. Namely, this little thing which I humbly present to you.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own _Castle_ , and on a lifeguard's salary, I can only ever dream to.**

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Kate Beckett thought that it couldn't get any worse after Castle had walked out of the precinct for a _rendezvous_ with an obtrusively busty blonde, leaving her heart to wilt and die under her desk like a sad bit of unwanted lettuce. The fact that her brain was coming up with these ludicrous metaphors clearly proved how dire her situation was; the irony being, of course, that as soon as she starts to cave in to the crazy, he's not here to witness it.

"Detective Beckett," a voice calls out, and her heart sinks even lower. "A word, please?"

Apparently, she was wrong about the worse thing. Gates, strongly reminding her of a meerkat, retracts her head into her office, ready to dole out all kinds of fresh hell. Well, maybe she's overreacting. Gates has certainly warmed to her since she took over the Captaincy of the twelfth, but she doubts she's pulling her in for a chat over coffee. Then again, Kate certainly has the right to be a tad melodramatic. The love of her life has just walked out on her for another woman – _wow_ does it feel odd to admit that to herself – and she's getting nasty déjà vu from a few summers ago, when he walked out on her with another well-endowed blonde.

Granted, that was half her fault for not ending it with Demming sooner, and for not admitting to herself that what she really wanted was not the robbery detective after all. Him moving straight on to the next available woman didn't exactly inspire trust – in him, or in the strength of his feelings towards her. Was that what was happening now? Was Lanie right - had she, once again, waited too long? She prayed that she hadn't. It was beginning to feel like some sort of Groundhog Day, where she just kept making the same mistakes, over and over.

Slowly levering herself out of her seat, where she probably would have given Colin Hunt a call in a fit of self-pity if Gates hadn't asked for her, she stumbles upright and reluctantly makes her way to the Captain's office. Laying a heavy hand on the door-knob, she twists it, and gingerly steps into the proverbial danger zone. Under Montgomery's leadership, the place was certainly less daunting than it is now.

"Take a seat, Detective." She does. Gates levels her one of those looks, the ones that laser you from over the top of her glasses. Kate can't help but draw alarming similarities between her and her Captain, which probably explains why they tend to clash.

"What did you want to see me about, Sir?" She nearly winces at the raised eyebrow, but manages to hold her ground, suddenly realising what this could be about. Isn't it always about _him_?

"Your…partner," she says reluctantly, as if it's a struggle to get that particular word out when it pertains to Castle. To be fair, she had the same problem a few years back, which really doesn't help her when it comes to finding differences between herself and Iron Gates.

"Sir?" She's almost hoping to prolong the moment, as if she can stop this conversation from happening. She doesn't really want to sit here while her boss questions his attitude or tries once again to get him out of here for good. On top of everything else, it's just one thing too many, especially when she's asking herself similar questions about his behaviour. Questions she doesn't have the answer to.

Gates, though, seems to be taking a different track to the one Kate had envisioned. She takes her glasses off and wearily places them on her desk, at a right angle to the file in front of her. Relaxing in her seat slightly, she looks at Kate again, a lot of the sternness leeched from her gaze.

"Beckett, whilst I have…reluctantly ceded that Mr Castle aids your team," she admits with an imperceptible twitch of her lips. "I'm beginning to worry that…" she pauses, as if searching for the right words to say. With a shake of her head though, she changes track. "I'm not blind. I'm aware that his demeanour has changed somewhat in the last few weeks, and frankly, I'm not one to butt in on minor disputes. I think you and I both agree, however, that his attitude reversal has gone beyond a minor one."

Kate looks at her boss with only a touch of the surprise she feels at the soft tone she's being addressed with. Gone is the hard-nosed Iron Gates, and in her place is someone who could even be approachable.

"Again," the Captain continues, steepling her fingers in front of her as she leans forward and places her elbows on her desk. "I don't like interfering in working partnerships, as it tends to do more harm than good, but it becomes my problem when such disruptions could endanger the lives of my people."

"Sir," Kate starts, frowning. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by-"

"You know exactly what I mean, Detective." Kate closes her mouth, because of course she knows what she means. Castle's distance, his preoccupation with flight attendants and dates and jackassery – all these things have thrown the both of them off. They're out of synch, a broken clock, and it's affecting their ability to work together. Not to mention her brainpower as she frantically scrabbles for the answer as to why he's so _mad_ at her. She hasn't found one yet, and that makes her even more upset, because how can she fix it when she doesn't know the cause?

Gates leans back in her seat again, sighing and closing her eyes as she absently massages her temple with her left hand. Suddenly, the woman looks weary in a way Kate hasn't really seen in her before, and an odd sense of concern catches in her throat, not quite making it to a verbal worry.

"Take tomorrow off, Detective, and use it to sort out whatever is troubling Mr Castle." Her eyes open, as if sensing Kate's utter shock, and her laser-like gaze tightens on her. "I expect the both of you to be as back to 'normal' as possible by the next day, because if he can't have your back, Kate, I _will_ pull him off the team." Pulling her glasses back on, she picks up her pen and focuses on the files on her desk. "Dismissed, Detective."

Before she even has time to process the use of her first name, or the care that Gates addressed her with, she's mumbling a _yes, Sir_ and stumbling back to her desk to collect her coat. Gates gave her time off just like that? Not only time off, but time off to specifically see Castle? Either the world is ending, or…well, there isn't really an 'or', but maybe, just maybe, she'd judged her Captain a little too harshly.

Steeling her resolve for what she knows is going to be a difficult twenty-four hours, she strides to the elevator that will take her from the Homicide floor to her car. Pushing the button anxiously again and again won't make the decrepit thing move any faster – it's purely a psychological thing, she knows – but it sure helps her feel better. She just wants to get out and _go_ , because if Gates is actually giving her the time off to let her sort things out between them, she's damn well going to use it.

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 **The second part shouldn't be too long in coming, although it will probably have to wait until after that paper is due…**

 **Please feel free to tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Terribly sorry for the rather long gap in between updates, and for the lack of review replies. I'm sure everyone here knows how difficult real life can get at times, and the last month has been hectic and stressful, to say the least. Here's the next part though, so I hope you enjoy!**

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When she knocks on his door, no one answers, and her heart sinks even lower than she thought possible. Evidently, tonight would be a night of odd surprises – she just hopes he'll surprise her too and listen to her, instead of what has become the usual brush-off.

Knocking again, she shifts her weight from her right foot to her left, the ache pulsing through her bones only partially due to the three-inch stilettos she'd worn today. The silence behind the door permeates the hallway with an unwelcoming chill, and she draws an unsteady, uneasy breath.

Even his home seems to be giving her the cold shoulder.

Perhaps it would be best if she came back in the morning. She'll be more relaxed, well-rested, ready to face whatever vitriol he might throw at her. It'll give her time to think of what to say. She could just turn around, go home, pour herself a glass of that lovely red she has sitting in her cupboard, run herself a hot bath and read a good book. Not one of his, but she's sure she could find something equally as engaging…

No. She quashes the urge to turn tail and run, because if she starts going down that road, she'll never stop. And isn't that what she's spent the last year trying not to do? If she leaves now, all the work will have been for nothing. Her fears will become her personal Wile E. Coyote – if only they had the accent to go with them. At least then they wouldn't cripple her.

A sigh is pulled out of her reluctant lungs as she slides down the wall next to his door and crumples in on herself. Her heavy head falls to her knees with a painful knock, her throbbing skull matching the tired beat of her heart. She will _not_ let herself cry, despite the lump in her throat that threatens to drain the salt water from every hidden pocket of soul, making them dry, lifeless.

She's just so _tired_. Tired of putting on an undefeatable façade when all she really feels like doing is crawling under her sheets and turning off the lights. Tired of fighting herself at every single turn, at every obstacle her arduous recovery has thrown at her. Tired of pretending she hasn't been crazy in love with Richard Castle for the past three years.

She can feel herself falling into an exhausted stupor – after the week she's had, who would blame her? – and she has just enough time to wonder if she'll be there until the morning before her mind takes her to a dream-world where she's sleeping in a soft bed next to his warm body before he stirs and puts an arm heavy around her waist and opens his blue eyes warmly and says-

"Kate?" The hoarse, bewildered word sinks into her subconscious, reeling her back in to lucid alertness. Her eyelids peel open feeling gritty and dry, almost as if she was hungover or coming off a long shift. The ache in her neck certainly feels like the latter, but the harsh wall at her back swiftly reminds her where she is and what she should be doing.

She looks up and sees him standing over her, black jacket slung carelessly over his arm, keys dangling in one hand. The bruises under his eyes are more prominent in the half-light, the thick purple-blue brushstrokes with too much paint making him look as worn-thin as she feels.

"Castle." Her voice is a muted whisper – soft, yet still saturated with the tiring day she's had, and the uncertainty that so often surrounds their interactions these days.

"Did you fall asleep here?" He ignores the sound of his name on her lips, his voice stronger this time; less unsure, but still confused. Was that a hint of worry? Or was she just projecting her own feelings onto him and pushing too hard for a response? After all, it wouldn't be the first time in the last few weeks that her attempts at affection had been coolly rebuffed by his apparent lack of care.

She hums an affirmative reply to his question as she digs her fingers into the kinks in her neck and upper back, choking down a groan of pain as she hits the knots. It doesn't look like she stifled it completely though, because his jaw clenches and his brow sets in an unforgiving line.

"How long have you been here?"

"Depends," she murmurs, still groggy. "What time is it?" He jerks his red shirtsleeve up angrily to look at the gold watch around his wrist. It's a new one – or at least, new to her. She wonders if he wore it specially for the flight attendant, and then decides bitterly that she would rather not know.

"It's just after midnight." Her eyes widen in shock.

"It's really been six hours?" The question spills out of her mouth before she can stop it, surprise at the amount of time she'd spent dozing by his door colouring her voice. He's surprised too, by the looks of it. His eyes turn to dinner plates and his mouth falls open slightly, before he tamps his emotions down behind his steel mask. She wonders if he learnt that trick from her.

"I suppose you'd better come in," he mumbles half-heartedly after a while, and steps around her outstretched legs to press the key into the lock. He pushes the door open with one shoulder and gestures for her to enter, although there's nothing welcoming or friendly in the motion. Instead, he watches as she struggles to her feet by herself, scar tissue tugging at the flesh around her ribs as his face remains impassive.

The loft is dark when she enters, devoid of the life and laughter she's come to crave from this place. The place that a small, hopeful part of her heart longs to call _home_ someday; a possibility that seems to be shrinking and vanishing into non-existence with each breath she takes.

Shaking the pins and needles out of her dead legs, she turns to see him close the door behind him, the resounding echo much louder and heavier in the silence than she expected. She shivers, the cream sweater currently wrapped around her too-thin body not doing much to ward off the chill of the room or the cold of his stare when he thinks she isn't looking.

"Coffee?" he grunts. She nods quietly, doesn't know where Martha and Alexis are or even how to ask. She would probably receive a short word or stony silence in response, as if she's somehow lost the right to inquire after the people she cares about. Instead, as he busies himself with the coffee grounds and snatches a bottle of milk from the fridge, she decides to skip over the awkward small talk and just dive in.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here," she begins tentatively, readying herself to unfold her heart, "but–"

"Oh, I've given up wondering why you do things," he says flippantly in what is probably meant to be a light tone, but the notes of black ice seep through and she feels as if she's just been hit in the stomach with a cold steel bar. Her days as a rookie on the force mean she knows _exactly_ what that particular sensation is like, and she can barely stand upright as the wind leaves her in an unforgiving rush. She struggles to take another breath that isn't laced with one of the most profound heart-breaks she's ever felt, and she realises he hasn't quite finished crumpling her like the shoddy first draft of a bad book, because he opens his mouth again.

"Personally," he continues in an almost conversational voice, "I find it easier to just stop caring. After all," and he looks her dead in the eye for the first time tonight, gives a mirthless chuckle that wraps around her ribs like a thicket of brambles. "It worked for you, didn't it?"

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 **Barring any unforeseen dilemmas, the next part should take less time than this one did. In other news, I finally have a tumblr account, so feel free to follow me if you want – my username is exactly the same as it is here. See you next time!**


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